


The Flare and The Freeze

by Pavlovs_Birdcage



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, M/M, References to Depression, Safe Haven
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-04-03 18:18:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14001834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pavlovs_Birdcage/pseuds/Pavlovs_Birdcage
Summary: After surviving the Flare and making it to the Safe Haven, Newt starts experiencing symptoms of another disease. Even when things seem hopeless, Thomas isn’t giving up on his friend.---The touch on his skin was like coming home. The warmth on his hand spreading with immediate effect and causing a faint thawing of his frozen heart. It was then he realized, that the one thing he could never be worthy of, was the one thing that could save him…“Well, damn."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> Thank you for reading. Please be advised that there is some references to depression and depressed thoughts as well as end of life ideation. Please take care to protect yourself from content that may harm you. 
> 
> Please enjoy and comment. :)

Newt held his hands in front of his body, watching the blue veins dance under his skin with the tremors. He curled his lips under his teeth as he had done every morning for the past three months, biting back the deep seeded need to scream in frustration.

 

_It’s getting worse._

 

The tremors have only started this week, but the blue tinge to his nail beds, along with other symptoms, started months ago. In the beginning, which seemed to be eons ago, he considered the strange combination of symptoms to be signs of an upcoming cold, or a reaction to coming back from the brink of his fate as a Crank.

He hid it, with little effort, with sweatshirts and cozy socks. This, while certainly covering the physical manifestation of his illness, did nothing to cover the pain.

 

Pain was to be expected when he came back to himself, from the throes of the Flare. He felt as if his head, where the enzymes began their work, was on fire, and his organs were in a constant state of strain. It took him weeks to finally be able to hold something as simple of Frypan’s bland oatmeal and water down. All the while, Teresa told him it was normal, and that all those who were once stricken with the Flare were experiencing the same, before recovering at a glacial pace.

 

Symptoms aside, the cure was a miracle. However, as the hundreds of others around him improved and returned to their normal health, Newt’s health only seemed to decline.

 

The scorching heat and foggy brain turned to chills that ran through his body the same way that blood seemed to run through others’. His heart ached regularly, while his chest constricted and caved inwards as if to warm itself. It was as if he traded in the burning heat of the Flare for the ice of this new illness.

 

Now, here he was on a tropical island, only to feel nothing but cold in the deepest of his bones.

 

Waking in itself was a feat. The will to move was overcome by the familiar and haunting feeling of his joints aching with even the slightest of movements. Even now, sitting among a nest of blankets with his feet curled under him, his chest ached from the cold. It was like constantly being wracked with a fever that would never break, the aches and chills were never-ending.

 

_Shucking body. Shuck it all._

 

“Ready?” Teresa’s patient tone broke him from his silent mental tailspin, bringing another, more recent, uncomfortable item to his mind.

 

 _Ready to see the hell I will be?_ He mused, nodding to Teresa, and stepping from the false protection the blankets offered. _Like the world’s most unfortunate butterfly, another monster for him to transform into._

They both stood against the steel railing of the ferry, looking out onto the island and watching their friends and fellow haven-seekers go about their daily activities. The Safe Haven had been a bustle of activity since they had spread to the mainland, causing them to take on more survivors and along with that, more responsibility. The cure, stemming from Thomas’s blood, could be manufactured quickly, even with their rudimentary tools- crude, toy science kits compared to the laboratory Teresa was used to. This allowed them to successfully treat as many infected Cranks as they came across, moving at a lightning pace up the coast. Entire towns that had once been dens of death, rot and danger, were springing from the rubble, full of survivors and hope.

 

They called these people- people who were once Cranks- Phoenixes.

For what else do you name something that has risen from the ashes of the Flare?

 

Newt was not a Phoenix.

 

There was no name for what he was. Not yet at least.

 

Keeping his hands jammed into the pockets of his heavy hoodie, Newt’s eyes focused on the island, half-heartedly listening to Teresa speak about recent events in her current role as the lead cure manufacturer. It was on of the most critical jobs in Safe Haven at this time, next to Thomas’ role as the blood donor, of course.

 

It was his best friend and fellow Glader, Thomas, whom Newt’s eyes had been fixed on since they made it onto the ferry’s deck. Even now, as the recycled rig slowly listed forward, pushing out into the ocean towards the mainland, Newt’s gaze remained fixed onto the other teen a distance away.

 

Newt watched as Thomas’s muscles flexed, lifting a wooden box and carrying across the sand and into the waiting hands of Frypan. The brunette smiled, at what could have been one of the other Glader’s jokes, while wiping the sand off his hands and onto his well-worn jeans. That beautiful smile brought out so much want from the smaller boy. He had found himself needing to be even the smallest part of Thomas’s life when he had met him for the first time in the Glade.

As he lay dying in the other boy’s arms, the Flare taking over his mind and body, he allowed himself a moment of weakness to admit his feelings of love in a soft, wet, black bile drowned whisper. Of course, he wasn’t expecting to survive the ordeal, and now the moment he had once seen as an act of bravery, to admit his feelings so vulnerably, he now saw as one of stupidity.

Like a bolt of lightening, painful ice filled his chest, causing his entire body to spasm with the unwanted sensation. His negative thinking, as usual, drove much of his pain. Teresa noticed the motion, and cut off her story mid sentence, wrapping him up to her side and rubbing his back. The flashes of pain were now worse, and would remain as such for another hour or so until they subsided into a dull ache.

 

_Typical._

 

It was this moment, that Thomas chose to look up and out into the ocean, catching the eyes of Newt and Teresa as they began to sail away. He smiled in that lopsided way of his, and gave a friendly wave. This was one of the few mornings that they had not had breakfast together at the mess pavilion, and the loss was felt by the both of the pair. Of course, Newt felt it even stronger.

 

Newt and Teresa waved back, trying their best to play it casual, as if Newt was not having an episode, and Teresa was not just comforting him in his time of need. After all, to Thomas, Newt was perfectly healthy.

 

“Thanks, T.” Newt sighed, releasing one of his hands from the safety of his sweatshirt, and placing it on Teresa’s shoulder. He was so thankful to have the girl with him through this. Having allowed himself to forgive her for her betrayal, he reached out to her with his secret, and she had been nothing but supportive and available. She dropped whatever she was doing in the small amount of personal time she was allowed, given the importance of her duties, and came to be his rock. At this time, she was still the only one who knew his secret, the truth, in which he had been saved that night from the flare, only to succumb to new threat only weeks later.

 

With the best fake smile he could muster, he watched as Thomas and the island faded into the distance. Seeing the Safe Haven from this view reminded him of why he chose this path in the first place.

 

Looking around at the hopeful faces on the island, shortly after the cure was made stable enough to manufacture in large quantities and distribute, had made him only feel more insignificant. His friends, were finally happy. There was finally hope. They had reached this peak before, of course, only to have it dashed with the attack of Grievers and the kidnapping of Minho by WCKD. He refused to be the reason that worry lines creased Thomas’s perfect face, or that Minho ran himself until his feet bled. He would need to be…the glue.

 

He needed to keep this quiet, and continue to hide it as best he could. H

 

 

 

They reached the dock on the mainland only a short few hours later, the rig, slamming in its usual way against the tired landing, rocking them backwards. From there, they rode with other ferry goers in the back of a military truck bed towards town.

This town, still fragile from its rebirth, was home to all the survivors on the coast. It was a marketplace, a hospital, and a community all in one. It also provided supplies to the Safe Haven.

Out of the truck, Teresa led them, her elbow hooked around Newt’s, down the winding path towards the hospital. Despite being ransacked by Cranks, rebels, and squatters at one time, it still held the necessary equipment needed to sustain a population.

 

“Weird that we didn’t see Minho on the ferry.” Teresa commented. Minho was, once again, a runner. He had the important role of transporting rucksacks full of the cure from the Safe Haven ferry to outer towns hours away. He led an entire team of runners, and they carried on in packs, rushing through the nests of cranks, and sticking the syringes filled with the cure into their skin. Sometimes they were chased, and sometimes even attacked. It was a terrifying role, but Minho seemed to thrive in that type of chaotic pressure.

 

“He’s off today.” Newt responded, quietly. “Can’t send him out at less than 100%.”

 

Teresa nodded and carried on, switching topics.

 

“Listen…I haven’t told you much about it because I am still learning. I didn’t want to get your hopes up.” She whispered, speaking of her research done on the few suffering from his same symptoms. “But, I still think that the more we learn, the closer we will be to finding a cure.”

 

Newt steeled himself against those familiar words. “I don’t doubt your abilities- truly, I don’t. But, last time it took WCKD years to find a cure for the flare. Years, mazes, and dead children. Are we sure its possible? Are we even sure this worth it?”

 

_Are we sure I am worth it?_

 

Teresa looked at him thoughtfully, her face betraying her desire to comfort her friend with words of hope, while another part of her knew he needed to hear the truth. Instead, she settled with staying silent.

 

“I mean…how many people are even affected by this?” Newt inquired.

 

“Zero point zero, zero, zero, five percent.” She responded matter-of-factly, pulling his arm closer to her side to provide him with much needed warmth. “We are only seeing it with those given the cure for the Flare, and its so rare, there is no way to get an accurate research pool….But from what I have seen, the more compromised your immune system is….the quicker the disease takes hold.”

 

“So, not enough to launch a full scale maze?” He joked, smiling wryly. The fact that he could even joke about an experiment that killed so many of his beloved friends, was probably a sign that the ice was already hitting his brain.

 

“Newt.” Teresa fixed him with her intense gaze, the way she always does. “I will figure this out…I will find a way to save you.”

 

The words were kind, and passionate. But, Newt felt no hope stem from within him. He may not have been immune to the Flare, but he certainly was becoming immune to even a hint of such a positive notion.

 

 

Inside the hospital, which was now clean and sterile with the smell of bleach in the air, despite the large cracks and graffiti on the walls, they made their way into a day room. Stepping under the large arched doorway, before a wall of windows, they slowed, Teresa pulling her arm back.

 

“I know this is difficult…” she started.

 

“T…I said I wanted to see it... I need to know.” He forced, lowering his head to look at her even with her eyes downcast.

She nodded, still not comfortable with the situation, and walked towards the only resident in the room.

The elderly man sat in an old rocking chair, his gaze fixed unblinking out the large windows overlooking the great blue ocean. He was as still as a doll, and tiny bright flakes of dust danced in front of his face before landing on his clothes and hair, joining the large clumps of dust that have made their home in the same place.

 

How long had it been since the man had moved?

 

Newt approached cautiously, the ache in the joints of his old leg injury, pulsing erratically. Despite the situation, he did his best to keep his body in the line of sunlight pouring softly through the window. It was a small, and petty action but it kept him all the warmer as he stooped to take a closer look.

 

His eyes roamed the man’s features, finding morbid familiarity in the way the other’s fingers on his left hand curled against his broad sweater covered chest. The blanket covering him did nothing to help bring warmth, as he huddled over in his rocker, his right hand on the armrest. A light purple covered the lining of his chapped lips, and the same hue was painted under his eyes. Beyond this, there was an eerie paleness that covered his features, bringing to mind the image of a man who appeared to be pulled from a freezer.

_Or a morgue._

 

Following the length of the man’s arm, Newt’s eyes fixed on the hand holding tightly onto a glass of water. To anyone else, it would have appeared as if someone had provided the patient with a cool glass of water, the condensation from the refreshing drink collecting over the entire glass.

 

But Newt knew better. Upon closer inspection, just under the tips of the old man’s fingers, spread tiny fractals, with the delicacy of spider cracks in glass. But the cup was not broken.

 

It was ice.

 

The cup was freezing underneath the man’s frigid grip.

 

With his heart sinking further then ever possible, Newt raised his own fingers into view. The pale blue was the same as that on the old man’s. Suddenly his mind jumped to the many times in the last few months where his friends, Thomas, Minho, Frypan, and Teresa, had all cringed or jumped with surprise when he reached out to touch them. He knew his hands were cold, as he felt the ache every day. But to now understand that his sickness had such an effect on others brought bile to his throat.

 

 _This will be you._ A voice needled. Memories of him begging to Thomas, for death, flashed through his mind.

 

Newt’s heart clenched in agony, and he doubled over, bringing his hands back into the safety of his clothing, and pressing them into his chest. He let out a groan of pain, as Teresa moved into action and held him.

This feeling never became easier. Like the fractals on the cup in the older man’s grip, another icicle took hold in the remaining spaces of Newt’s chest cavity. His heart clenched and gave into the freeze, shortening his breath, and testing his will to go on.

 

They stay there on the floor, Teresa holding him, while he continued to stare at the man that was further along in his fate; his age and lowered immune system, being the main catalysts.

 

This sickness was so much like the Flare, it was incredible. For the Flare, the mind becomes corroded and crazed, leading the ill to attack and even murder. In the case of this new illness, the ill becomes depressed and unmotivated to the point of isolating themselves away from the world. Newt knew, because he was experiencing it himself. Long walks became longer, and showers turned into havens as he took any moment to be alone in an embrace. Finally, both the Flare and this sickness shared the last stage, where the ill take up the role of fusing to the environment and becoming no more than a decorative skeleton. In the case of this poor man, he was sure that when he visits next week, the ice will have consumed both the chair and the cup. Frozen in time.

 

 _Perhaps it’s for the best._ He thinks. _You can’t hurt anyone like this. You cannot attack anyone like this._

_They will all be safe. Thomas will be safe._

_Safe from you._

_Yes…Tommy would be safe…His Tommy needs to be safe._

_You deserve this…_

_._

_._

_._

_Crank._

Blinking, his mind replaces the old man with a vision of himself in the chair.

His young frame still fragile, pale, and covered in the sparkle reserved for freshly fallen snow. His face stuck with his eyes open like a living doll. If he had his memories, he might have compared his body to one of his siblings’- if he had any- china dolls. His blonde hair curling over a porcelain face, glassy eyes staring into nothing. Lifeless. His heart frozen over like the cold and unforgiving disappointment he felt in himself since the end of his role as a runner.

 

It was perfect. He mused.

 

It would be nearly impossible to poison the lively, beautiful souls around him when he could barely move.

 

Suddenly his heart ached, not just because of the ice in his chest, but also because of the desire to be done with it all. The feeling of reaching that finish line was like a fresh winter breeze upon him.

 

Closing his eyes, he let out a breath, and suddenly…

 

“Oh my God.” Teresa, struggled to stand beside him. Running over to a corner of the room and back with a speed rivaling Minho’s, before throwing a soft blanket over Newt’s shoulders and hugging it to his body with her own.

 

“Newt, say something.” She panicked.

 

He blinked again, and moved his head slowly, sickly, towards her, brow arched slightly. “Hm?”

 

“Newt…I just saw your breath.”

 

_Okay?_

“No…I mean…I saw like your breath, as in, condensation in the air forming a cloud…Like you get when it’s ten degrees outside.” She explained, still shocked at what she had seen and now trying to make sense of it.

 

Newt swallowed thickly, moving a blue-fingered hand to his mouth to cover it.

 

Apparently the finish line was much closer than previously thought.

 

 

 

“Thank you, Teresa.” He told the girl as they walked back to the mess hall in Safe Haven that afternoon. “I am sorry for…” He cut off. “But I do appreciate you helping me with this…with everything.” He choked on words, trying to express how grateful he was, without trying to sound like he was apathetic to the situation they were in.

 

She must have noticed something in his voice, as perceptive as she was, or in the way his eyes were glazed over instead of squinting in response to the usual pain, because she started to speak. “Newt, I-.”

 

 

“Hey!” The confident voice of his best friend’s greeting interrupted them from closer than he expected. Thomas and Minho were suddenly right beside them. “We didn’t catch you at breakfast, so now you need to make it up to me at dinner.” Thomas joked, reaching an arm over Newt’s shoulders, and pulling him towards the mess pavilion.

 

Minho shared a smile with Teresa, who returned it with a worried pout. Newt thought she might say something, but found himself not caring in the slightest. By the time his friends found out about his secret he would be back on the mainland, playing Popsicle with the old man from this morning.

 

“And how was another busy day in the lab on the mainland?” Thomas inquired jokingly, his eyes shining bright with life and happiness. “Clean any good beakers?”

Of course, he was happy. He deserved to be happy. They all did.

 

Well, everyone except Newt.

 

He cleared his throat of an itch, which he could only imagine was the beginnings of Strep or the creeping of ice up his esophagus.

 

“Just another day at the hospital.” He answered calmly, if not quieter then he ever remembered himself speaking. For weeks, the energy to do even the most mundane- like speaking- remained a chore. But, he could spare the energy for Thomas. _Thomas deserved this_.

 

To cut off any more questions that would lead back to the hospital and his interesting visit of a fellow patient, he changed the subject. “More importantly, what were you up to? Hopefully not helping Frypan in the kitchen. You have a tendency to create grease fires from air.”

 

Thomas sputtered, insulted, as they waited on a short line of people moving towards the large buffet style platters of food. “I cannot believe you would say that. I am a fantastic cook!”

 

From far off in the distance, most likely from inside the kitchen, a voice shouted a retort. “No you’re not!”

 

Everyone, even those on line around them, laughed.

 

They moved to sit down at a long wooden table. Newt smiled, watching Thomas pout dramatically with wounded pride. Suddenly, Newt felt a resemblance of his old self, snaking up from the rubble that made up his current state of being.

 

“I get it though.” He started as they sat; speaking low so only Thomas would hear his words, which in itself was nothing new. Their friends were used to their odd closeness. “The need to feel useful. Like what you are doing is not enough compared to what you know you are capable of, and what others are sacrificing?”

 

_Wow…where did that come from?_

 

Thomas gave him a look of astonishment. Perhaps he should have kept his mouth shut, and remained silent. Frozen and silent.

 

“Yeah, Yeah!” Thomas confirmed, suddenly becoming animated like a live wire, his words coming out rapidly. “It’s like, even though I give blood, I get the feeling like I should be doing more. Honestly, giving blood every other day is not exactly work, and it is not like I am the one doing _making_ the cure. Its all Teresa and her lab team that do the real work.”

 

Newt nodded. He knew that feeling. When he injured his leg in the Glade, he could no longer do the things he knew would bring the best benefit. Instead, he was forced into gardening, and greeting new Greenies as they came out of the box. Compared to being a runner, it did not sit well in his heart. He was no longer needed. Useless. He told Thomas as such, gesturing towards his leg slightly to clarify.

 

Of course, he did not let Thomas in on how deep these feelings went. How every time he looks down at the scarring on his arm from the Flare’s first mark, he remembers how he was once considered, “the glue”. The glue was useful. The glue had a purpose. He held everyone together and calm in times of need. He stopped Thomas and Minho, in all their thick headedness from running the whole group of Gladers into danger without thinking it through, countless times.

 

_But now, Crank?_

 

Now? Now, he could barely hold himself together nonetheless hold together a team.

 

Thomas glanced down at Newt’s leg for a moment, considering his next words, before putting a hand over the smaller boy’s wrist, now naked from where his hoodie sleeve had ridden up.

 

“You will always be needed, Newt. I will always need you.”

 

Thomas’s eyes bore into his like tiny suns melting through to his own as he said the words with conviction. The intensity made the blonde uncomfortable, but the closeness made him feel something else- something other than the chill of his heart.

 

It took a moment, but Newt’s breath caught as he realized that the feeling in his wrist that he had trouble recognizing was none other than warmth. True warmth.

 

It was like the feeling of being touched by the sun after months of being locked away inside during winter. It was euphoric, and left his mind high and clouded. His chest clenched, and his lungs crackled with either phlegm or ice when he breathed out with the punch from the sensation.

 

He hoped he did not look like a freak, having a fit over being touched so slightly, but he did not dare compose himself. He couldn’t allow even the slightest movement to occur as if it would break the spell, and snap Thomas’s fool hand away and back to the safety of it’s owner.

 

Tears threatened to burst forth with the river of emotions exploding inside him.

 

“Thank you, Tommy.” He smiled, a genuine, but sad smile, and moved his other hand cautiously towards the one on his wrist -his oh so _warm_ wrist- and covered it gently. “You have no idea how important you are to me, too.”

 

And like that, the moment was over. Newt had no idea how lost in the moment he was until the din of the mess pavilion came crashing back around them. The first thing he heard was Frypan’s laughter as Teresa and Minho reenacted the disaster that could have only been Thomas’s first attempt at a campfire stove. At this point, Thomas’s hand left Newt’s wrist and he moved to defend his own honor against his friends’ retelling of his error.

 

“He didn’t have eyebrows for a month!” Teresa exclaimed, covering her own eyebrows with two well-placed fingers to complete the story. The entire table burst into laughter.

 

The scene continued around Newt as he wrapped one hand around a steaming bowl of broth- solely for the warmth it provided, while the other- the one Thomas had touched- remained still, the sensation still tingling across his skin.

 

_It’s warm._

_The pain is gone._

 

This hand…this wrist…this arm, felt no cold or pain.

 

He had no urge to pull it back to his body to reserve the heat. Instead, it felt as if it had its own heat already, like a tiny furnace. Even some of the blue tinge had receded from his nail beds.

 

The touch on his skin was like coming home- the warmth of his hand and wrist spreading with immediate effect and causing the faintest of thawing of his frozen heart. It was then he realized, that the one thing he wanted most, but could never be worthy of, was the one thing that could save him…

 

_Well, fuck._

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome to chapter 2!  
> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy.   
> Please note, again, this chapter includes thoughts and references to depression.

It had changed everything.

Something as simple as a touch from one friend to another had turned his life upside down, and threatened to instill what could only be considered the root of all evil into his frozen soul: hope.

Hope was a cruel token, and lead people like him, and like the Gladers, to think that there was a chance at something more than death. Hope led him to believe that a happy ending was a possibility.

He knew exactly where that hope had left his young charges from the Glade. WCKD may have killed them, but it was hope that led them to the slaughter.

 

 

Now, hope reared its ugly head, as Newt now believed he could be saved by something as simple as a touch from someone he loved more than anyone, anything and even himself. Energy bounced within him, as he held his future in his hand. Maybe, he could save himself. Maybe, Thomas could save him.

 

 

Newt walked with Teresa and Minho to the morning ferry, the morning sand still cool under their feet.

 

“You coming with us, Shank?” Minho called to Thomas as he joined the trio on their journey. All on their way to the mainland, Teresa and Newt were on their way to the hospital, while Minho was geared up for another run through the land of cranks to deliver The Cure.

 

“Yeah, I think I’ll try and make myself useful with some of my favorite people…” He smiled and wrapped an arm over both Teresa and Minho while they walked. “…That guy that runs the taco stand and Crazy Scott”.

 

“Ha ha, Greenie, but we all know Crazy Scott likes me best.” Minho responded.

 

Newt smiled genuinely, and watched his friends banter back and forth over the fictional love of the infamous mainland’s resident-Boo-Radley. Despite being part of the group, he was an outside looking in. He mused to himself on what life for them would be like without him in it. He could already picture himself fading away from the scene, leaving nothing but a shadow and a distant memory, while his friends lived on. Sure, they would carry the scar of his death for some time, just as he held the scars of losing the Alby and the Gladers, and they would stumble from the grief for a moment. But soon, they would be back on their feet and charging forward, just as they had always done. No doubt, Thomas would lead them on another journey that involved risking all their lives for someone they held dear. Newt was only too glad that the clunk-for-brains had Teresa and Minho to keep him grounded, and fill the void Newt would soon leave behind.

 

The warm day did wonders on his chilling body. He held his head towards the sky as he embraced the rays of sun like a desperate houseplant.

 

“Newt.” Thomas approached him on the side railing of the ferry, as they waited to launch. “Do you have a second?” He asked.

Newt practically shuddered at the way Thomas whispered to him in that same soft tone that had become so familiar to him.

 

“Yeah, what is it, Tommy?”

 

“I wan- I just wanted to make sure everything was okay.” Thomas played with his own hands as he spoke. A habit he displayed when he was nervous, or solving a puzzle. Newt assumed that now, it must have been a bit of both. “It’s been a few weeks since…” He trailed.

 

_Since I confessed my love to you and died in bloody?_

 

“Tommy.” Newt stopped him with a hand at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, allowing his thumb to brush the small piece of skin there, and feeling the warmth that tiny bit of touch generated. “Thank you…” He paused, keeping their eyes fixed and taking care in how he phrased his words. “You know everyone considered me the mother hen of the Gladers, but you take the cake on it. And, I think that is the reason any of us are still alive. You never give up on us, Tommy. You never stop caring.”

 

Thomas blushed, his head low, and his hands still fiddling. “Yeah, but who knows where I would be without you.”

 

_Don’t say that._

_Not now._

_Please don’t say that, now._

 

Newt swallowed the lump in his throat as he fought to try and pass on the wisdom of a dying man, while simultaneously not giving away the fact that he was actually dying. It was cryptic as hell. “You would be right where you are. You will always be right where you need to be, because you never give up.” He moved his other arm to crush the other into a hug, that he hoped came off as a comfort for Thomas, rather than a comfort-goodbye for himself. “No matter what, make sure you never give up.”

 

Thomas returned the hug and smiled into Newt’s shoulder as they held each other.

 

“Thanks, Newt. I needed that.” They broke away for the moment, but stayed close, and leaned on the ferry railing, as the vessel moved forward across the water. Newt tried not to smile at being right that out of the two of them, it was Thomas that needed the most comfort right now. Newt was all too happy to pass the attention away from his own problems and focus on his Runner.

 

“Is this about giving blood? About thinking its not enough?” He referred to their conversation from the afternoon prior when Thomas had been honest about how useless he felt in the Safe Haven.

 

Thomas shrugged. “I’m trying not to let it get to me. Like you said…never give up.”

 

“Well then I am glad you are coming with us to see how amazingly vital our jobs as beaker cleaners are.” He said in jest, causing Thomas to break out in a smile. _Mission accomplished._ “Seriously, without my skills moving ‘chemical whatever’ from room A to point B, we would all be screwed.”

 

“I am so glad to get a taste of that glory.”

 

“You should be. Revel in it when you get there. Try not to make Teresa jealous though. She will be doing the unimportant, menial task of making The Cure…so make sure not to boast.”

 

They laughed and continued to joke the entire way to the mainland. It left a good impression, and gave Newt the feeling of being home…if he had remembered where home was before the Glade, he imagined it would be something like this.

 

 

 

 

“No, I am serious.” Thomas continued his tale of Ares and Brenda’s big public blow up during their first week in Safe Haven. His arms flailed as he tried to illustrate the moment. “I thought she was going to murder him…So, Minho and I were watching, as Ares- all 90 pounds of him- gets up and marches up to Brenda, looks her in the eye, and says… ‘You can all look like potatoes, but not me…hand it over.’… And she did! I swear that was the last bit of make up in the world and she just passed it over.”

 

“Ares can be quite terrifying when the time calls for it.” Newt shared a laugh as he moved the sponge back and forth over a fragile glass microscope slide.

 

“So can Brenda, though! That’s why it was so crazy to me. It was like an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object.” Thomas continued, tearing open boxes and stacking inventory in the laboratory cabinets.

For a brief moment, as Thomas spoke, Newt imagined that this is what life would have looked like if they had both had normal childhoods, and had been in school or at their first jobs together, just the two of them shooting the breeze over their tasks. It was a slice of the mundane, and he loved every bit of it.

 

“You two are having way to much fun with this.” Teresa walked into the room in her white lab coat with a tray of more used equipment in hand. She had been in the room next door for most of the day synthesizing the Cure from Thomas’ blood. Without her team it was slow moving, and with only so much refrigerated storage space, they did not have the luxury of over producing. It was a delicate balance.

 

“How are you doing in there?” Thomas asked, and the trio exchanged light conversation. Before long, Thomas was carrying a stack of empty cardboard boxes, from the room. Newt and Teresa stayed behind and continued to work: Newt cleaning the glass items, while Teresa put any large equipment away in a locked storage cabinet.

 

In the silence, Newt was able to think of his big strategy. Plan A, being to save himself through the ‘power of love’ or whatever nonsense it was. If Plan A did not work, and human touch was not the answer, then Plan B consisted of him finding a quite corner of the world to forever rest.

 

So his plan went:

  1. Tell Thomas you love him.
  2. Tell Thomas about the Freeze and let him know the only cure is human contact.
  3. Get human contact (see above).
  4. Live happily ever after.



 

Or…Plan B.

 

  1. Complete steps 1-4 (see Plan A), and when this does not work, proceed to step 6.
  2. Say goodbye to all your friends.
  3. Watch one more sunset.
  4. Freeze and die.



 

_Freeze and die._

 

Newt felt his body jolt with the cold flash at the thought. From his heels, up his back to the hairs that prickled on the back of his neck, he felt the ice burn. The Freeze symptoms had been occurring more frequently as days went on.

 

As he paused to let his body recover from the episode, as brief yet painful as it was, he let his eyes wander back to the beaker in his hand. There, on the wet beaker, under where his blue tinged fingers gripped, were tiny fractals of ice, growing like mold across the surface of the glass.

 

Oh God.

 

He let the fragile beaker fall from his sticky, icy grip, and watched it shatter on the floor into tiny pieces. Just like his life, the thousands of glass fragments shot across the linoleum and under cabinets, tables and out of sight, leaving nothing but ruin.

 

“Newt, what-?” He heard Teresa step up to him, concerned, but he did not respond. Before she could finish her sentence he was out the door, his sneakers crushing any glass slivers underneath on his way out.

 

He sprinted down the hall, his injured leg flaring with pain with each stride.

 

Who did he run into, but Thomas, on his way back to the lab after completing his errand. Newt shoved past him, not slowing down, but feeling their bodies connect hard, before he left him alone in the hall. He heard his friend call out behind him, but he could not stop. He could not be stopped.

 

Newt sprinted down the hallway, up flights of stairs and into the graffiti covered hospital wing that Teresa has previous lead him. Like a freight train he made his way over to the bright, glass windowed day room.

 

He skid to a stop before entering, feeling the tension like a heavy weight. Pushing forward, now tentatively, he looked ahead at the spectacle in the center of the room.

There, in the sun, where the room was the warmest, was the old man, still resting in his wheelchair. His hand, now a pale blue, was curled around the metal armrest of his wheelchair. His face held the same pale blue, with the exception of his milky open eyes, clouded over from death.

Across his skin was the sparkle reminiscent of freshly fallen snow, and on his lips, the hint of ice where moisture had once been.

 

It was a foreshadowing.

 

_Where I have been, so you will be._

_And where I go, so must you follow._

Into death, Newt would join this man- a sculpture of ice, frozen and alone.

 

Behind him, two sets of footsteps clattered against the floor as they rushed towards him. Teresa slowed her stride to reach out and take hold of Newt’s shoulders to pull him up and away.

 

_Wait, when did his legs give out?_

_Who was that screaming?_

 

Newt’s mind pondered, as she lead him from the day room at a snails pace. Perhaps they moved so slowly because he was fighting her. He couldn’t control it. His body was on autopilot now, and his ears were deaf to her pleas.

 

Thomas looked on in shock and horror, and once he knew his friend was safe and in capable hands, he went to check on the old man. His fingers moved from the man’s neck to his hands, trying to find a pulse. Unfortunately, for Thomas, one harsh flick of the patient’s fragile wrist, in a Good Samaritan act, had resulted in a snap.

Newt had to swallow back the bile as the man’s wrist broke, and nearly severed from the rest of his arm, like an icicle breaking off a roof.

 

It was disturbing to watch, even as he was pulled away.

 

Soon this would be Newt, and his poor Thomas would find himself in the same position: desperately searching for signs of life and being forced to look into dead, cold eyes.

 

No. When this became of him, he needed to make sure he was somewhere that no one could ever find him. He needed to find a place so far away that the only ones to come across his body would be curious creatures, or lucky anthropologists years from then.

He decided, he could not do this to the ones he loved.

Newt vowed then to make sure that his family survived his demise with as little scarring and trauma as possible. My God he had to.

 

But first…he had to find out who kept making that infernal screaming!

 

_Oh…wait…_

 

 

 

“When will he wake up?” Thomas asked Teresa, as he held Newt’s hand tightly between the two of his.

The blonde lay under the covers in his cot, hair messed and limbs limp in artificial sleep.

 

“Shouldn’t be much longer.” She stated matter-of-factly, leaning on the bedroom wall of their cabin. “He’ll be groggy when he wakes up. The drug tends to do that.”

 

Thomas understood why she made the decision to sedate him. Newt had been inconsolable and wild, fighting them tooth and nail in never-ending attempts to either run away, or stay leaden in the day room with the corpse. He howled, and clawed like a wild animal in a way that was so hauntingly similar to his brief time as a crank, that Thomas froze up, and left Teresa to drug their friend. It was Thomas that carried Newt’s unconscious body from the hospital, to the ferry, and finally, to lay in his bed back in their Safe Haven cabin. The entire time he held him, Newt’s body close to his chest, like a child, he thought about the pain of letting him go, and guiltily wished he could hold him to his warmth forever.

 

Thomas’s face was stoic as he and Teresa made their way past him and back onto the ferry. Even when Minho tried to shoulder some of Newt’s weight, Thomas refused, and held the smaller boy closer. He would have to ask forgiveness from his friend later, once they had Newt in bed and safe.

 

Thomas thought himself a coward. The two times when Newt had needed him most, he could not be there for him in the way he needed him to be. How many more chances was he going to get to be what Newt deserved?

 

Thomas thought back to only a few months ago when he held Newt dying in his arms. He still feels the fear in his chest, and wakes from sleep with terror filled nightmares, reliving every moment. The counselors in the Safe Haven, fellow survivors that felt the responsibility of caring for others even when they were in pain themselves, had told him that what he had gone through was traumatic and that the scars of that experience would follow him for some time. He sometimes believed the thoughts would drive him mad, as every moment on the island was another reminder of the friends they has lost, like Chuck and Alby, and those he had almost lost, like Newt.

 

Tamping it deep, deep into the recesses of his mind only helped so much. The strangest thing was that the painful memories of his failures had the same stirring effect as the memory of Newt’s confession of love.

 

How could something so beautiful as the love from someone so pure, make him feel so anxious? The thought made his stomach twist into knots, riddled with nausea, and made his hands shake with fear.

 

Was he afraid of a relationship wit Newt- of not meeting his expectations? Perhaps he did not feel as if he deserved the love of the other boy. For now, it would remain a mystery, like the rest of his nightmares, buried down beneath the layers of his mind.

 

“Tell me everything.” He told Teresa, demanding to know the truth.

 

“Come on.” She led him from the room, leaving Newt to sleep alone.

 

 

“Every second that I am not working on The Cure, I have been working on finding a way to help Newt. “ Teresa’s voice carried from the main room of the cabin and into the bedroom.

 

Newt’s eyes blinked open heavily. He felt as if his head were weighted with lead, and his brain fuzzed with cotton. He could hear the words being spoken in the other room, but he could not understand the full extent of what they meant.

 

“How is this happening, again? How can we help him?” Thomas’s voice cracked with barely concealed grief.

 

“Are there more like him? Like the old man they are burying on the mainland?” Minho.

 

The voices blurred together as Newt sat up in the bed, shuffling to the edge.

When he turned his stiff neck towards the voices through the wall, his eyes met his own reflection in the mirror on the door.

 

It was a horrid sight.

 

His skin was deathly pale, like a ghost. His hair was askew, as it normally was when he awoke from a night of sleep. His eyes were a sickly red, and hovered like pinholes above deep blue bruises. He looked dead already.

 

His fingers were claw-like and stiff as he struggled to lift the covers off his body- another symptom most likely.

 

As soon as his feet hit the floor he made to stand on wobbly legs, before shuffling his way to the window. With more than a few stumbling movements, he was out of the cabin and onto the sand.

 

His sluggish brain cells of his mind rubbed together to make a steady stream of thoughts, but only a few were actually viable. So far, the only ones recognizable were “must flee” and “one more sunset”. Both of them lead in the direction of the beach, so this is the way he went.

 

Meandering across the island to the rocky section of shore where those in Safe Haven rarely traveled, he found himself collapsing to a seat in the soft sand. The warmth that the grains had absorbed all day in the searing sun rose up through his cargo pants, and provided much needed comfort.

 

It was strange, but for the first time in a while, he had not felt the intense bite of the cold. Instead, he felt numb all around. He chewed his lip, wiggled his behind further into the sand, and pressed his recently icy hands to his sensitive cheeks. No cold, no pain.

 

_How strange._

 

It was a nice feeling, to feel nothing at all, he thought. It gave him a bubbling illusion of pleasure starting in his gut, and making its way to a drunken smile on his face. Oh, if only the rest of his experience alive could be like this.

 

The setting sun painted orange and red streaks in the sky as it began its descent below the horizon. Newt reveled in the sight, feeling himself relax further into the sand. The only thing that would have made this experience any better would be to have his Tommy by his side.

 

He could imagine the orange glow across the other’s mole spotted face, as he sat beside him. The image his mind conjured of Thomas was so close he could almost touch him. He must have been hallucinating.

 

Newt’s grin split wider and the illusion of Thomas smiled back. All was right with the world, even if it was not real. Even if nothing was all right at all.

 

 

  1. _Say goodbye to all your friends._
  2. _~~Watch one more sunset.~~_
  3. _Freeze and die._



 

“I’m going to miss you, Tommy.”

 

 

 

 

Thomas walked towards his and Newt’s shared room after leaving Minho and Teresa to continue their conversation in the main room.

 

Throughout their entire discussion, Thomas’s body wanted nothing more to reach out through the cabin wall and hold on to the blonde’s sleeping form. Now, he couldn’t hold himself back from being closer to him.

 

Wringing his hands, he stepped into the room to see Newt’s empty bed, sheets mussed, and window open. Newt was missing.

 

“Newt? Newt!” Thomas called, racing out of the room and past Teresa and Minho, outside.

 

“Thomas, wait!” Minho called after him, rushing outside and into the near darkness, Teresa trailing behind him.

 

“Newt’s gone.” Thomas shouted, not bothering to look at Minho, and instead focusing on finding Newt. He searched around the cabin, then made his way to the mess hall.

 

“Okay, wait.” Minho grabbed him by the shoulder, dragging him backwards. “Where would he go? Think…what would Newt do?”

 

Thomas’s mind pinballed back and forth on any possible option for a half-drugged, ill, young man to hide. Was he hungry? Could he want to be near the bonfire fire to warm up? Where would he go?

 

His heartbeat was in his throat, and his breaths were coming in gasps. He needed to think, he needed to find Newt. He refused to allow the boy to be alone.

 

Alone and small like that old man, freezing to death in an abandoned hospital.

 

_Alone…_

 

“Spread out.” He demanded of the pair. “Look in every quiet place, where someone can be alone. Newt would want to remove himself from everyone, and keep the people he cares about out of this.”

 

“’l’ll check the chapel and the mess pavilion” Teresa volunteered.

 

“And I’ll check the trails in the woods and the north side. He was barefoot, so he couldn’t have gone far.” Minho provided, giving them both a nod before sprinting off. He had the most ground to cover, but he was also the fastest of the three.

 

Thomas nodded once to Teresa before sprinting off to run the circle of sandy beach surrounding the island. The entire circumference of the land was made up of caves, craggy rocks, and sand dunes. All were fantastic hiding places for someone who knew where to go.

 

He was halfway through circling the island when he made it to the rocky outcropping of the south end. Thomas would not have noticed Newt’s seated form, blending into the pale sand if he had not heard his voice.

 

When he heard the soft tone, his head spun towards the tree line, and he spotted him.

 

“Newt!” Thomas called, and sprinted over to the blonde. “Where the hell have you been, man!” He grabbed a hold of Newt’s shoulder, forcing him to turn towards Thomas’ way with surprise, as if he this was the first time he was noticing him.

 

“Tommy?” The blonde drawled, his mouth and brain still under the influence of the sedative. One eyebrow lifted in confusion, and he turned his head back to the side, looking to the space beside him as if expecting someone to be there.

 

“Newt,” He softened his voice, placing a hand on the other’s face and gently turning it towards him. Already, the tips of Thomas’s fingers felt the chill from their moment on the frozen skin. “Let’s get you back to the cabin, okay? Can you come with me?”

 

Newt pondered on this for a moment. “Come with…No. No, you need to stay here, I need to go.” He shook his head and tried to explain in his disorganized way, but Thomas’s expression only became more concerned.

 

“You want to go back to the cabin by yourself? Newt, it’s dark out and you aren’t wearing shoes-“

 

“No. Not the cabin. I need to go, and you can’t follow.”

 

Newt’s words terrified him. Under the haze of the drugs Newt’s nonsensical words became nihilistic, and they sent his level of panic through the roof.

 

“Where are you going, Newt?” Thomas asked slowly with dread, the words sticking to his throat like honey.

 

Instead of answering, Newt only placed one of his hands on the back of Thomas’s head, threading his fingers through the soft hair there. With a gentle confidence that he had always been known to have, Newt pulled him closer and pressed their lips together in a chaste kiss. It lasted only a second, before Newt pulled away, his cold hand still on Thomas’ neck.

 

Warm tears filled Thomas’s eyes and fell down his cheeks. He used his arm to wipe them away quickly before focusing back on Newt. The other Glader also had a tear track below his eye, and instead of tracking down his beautiful smooth cheek, it had slid only halfway before becoming solid. Frozen.

 

“Promise me, Tommy, that you will remember me?”

 

When Thomas had read Newt’s letter to him, it had been after they had made it to Safe Haven. Never before had he felt such pain in his life as those moments when he had lost Chuck, Alby, Winston, and had almost lost Newt. He sprinted from where he sat, letter in hand, and had rushed to crush Newt, still alive, in his arms. His friend was alive, but the idea of Newt embracing his own death, and even going so far as to ask Thomas to put a bullet between his eyes, was unbearable. Now, again, Thomas saw that heavy blanket of apathy covering his friend, whom he loved wholeheartedly, and his heart broke.

 

Among the pain, determination spread. Newt was right when he said that he never gave up, and he refused to give up now.

He grabbed the other boy into a harsh and suffocating hug, pressing his chin into the top of those golden locks, and let his tears fall.

 

“I love you, Newt. And I’m not letting you die.”

 

In response, he felt more of those ice-drop tears against his neck where Newt’s nose and face were buried. It was a welcome feeling.

 

Like the other touches Thomas had supplied, warmth rose at their points of connection, and Newt felt infinitely more alive. He breathed out a loud, open-mouthed sigh and burrowed further into his friends embrace. The moment before he kissed Thomas, he could feel the drugs wearing off as his brain started to work more like it was used to, and his thoughts were more his own. Now, even with the drugs almost fully removed from his system, he still could not feel the cold bite of the disease. Most of his body was still numb, save for the places where Thomas body connected with his.

If he could, Newt would stay there forever, and listen to those words on a loop.

 

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I love you._

 

“I love you, Tommy.”

 

­­­­


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> Thank you all for your kind comments!  
> Please enjoy the next chapter.
> 
> Fair warning, dubious science ahead.

From the time that Minho found them on the beach to the next morning on the Mainland, Thomas had not let go of Newt. He even went as far as to make sure their hands touched across the space spanning between their two beds.

Before falling asleep their eyes met and held for what seemed like forever. With a slight uptick of the side of his mouth, Newt made the dark haired boy feel at ease, signaling that al would be well.

 

Newt told him on their walk back from the beach that the touch had helped, going as far as to warm his extremities so that they were no longer having the icing effect on the items around him.

Although it was only temporary, if it had made Newt the smallest bit more comfortable, Thomas would never stop holding him.

 

With his arm still wrapped around Newt’s shoulders, they hung around the boat launch among the hustle and bustle of the port. All around them people were loading supplies, pouring tankards of gas into the ferry, and trading goods of value.

 

By the taco stand, which provided tacos in exchange for fish caught off the island, Minho and his new group of Runners geared up for their expedition. He walked over to the pair, still wrestling with his chest protector.

 

“Hey Newt, do you want to come with me on a run? Today’s going to be an easy day; we’re riding most of the way in one of the trucks before handing out the Cure. I checked, and the town hospital we are going to has already been cleared. Not a Crank in sight.” He encouraged.

 

Newt , who felt Thomas bristle beside him, smiled and appeared to consider the option to humor his friend. He knew his limp would no longer be the only limitation holding the team behind. He had no idea when the Freeze would have another flare up, or if he would drop in the middle of the mission. It was best he stick to easier work. After all, he left his running days behind in the Glade.

 

“No, I don’t think it would be fair to show you up in front of your apprentices.” He joked, gesturing to the group of Runners crowding the taco stand.

 

Minho glanced to Thomas, before turning back to Newt. “It might be good for you, man.”

 

Minho had a point. Newt was again reminded that he used to be the mother hen of the Gladers, and that it was his responsibility to keep all the cogs in motion, and all of their spirits high. Now, he was useless, and helpless. Hell, even when he had the Flare, he kept pushing, kept fighting to save Minho, to save Thomas, and to save the world. The thought of living his last days like that old man in the hospital, waiting and watching the days go by from a rocking chair left a pit in his gut.

 

With a quick and strong pat on Thomas’ shoulders he stepped forward to Minho with a sincere, but nervous smile. Thomas immediately moved to grab him back.

 

“Newt-“

 

“Its okay, Tommy.” He looked back at his friend and placed his hand on the back of his neck and ran his fingers through those brown locks. “You can’t get rid of me that easy.”

 

Thomas did not look convinced, and looked to Minho for help. When he saw he wouldn’t get any, he tried, “I’ll go with you, then.” If Newt was going to be out in the scorch risking his life, he was going to be with him every step of the way. The three of them had made an amazing team before, and Newt would have not one, but two friends to protect him.

 

“Actually, Thomas…” Teresa cut in, apologetically. “We were hoping you can give some more blood today, remember?”

 

He was torn. The world- or what was left of it- needed his blood, Newt needed his touch to stay alive, and Thomas needed Newt. His heart was racing and his stomach churned uneasily.

 

“Tommy.” Newt moved closer to Thomas, their heads almost touching, as they had so many other times before. “The world needs you. Those people need you… At the end of the day, we will meet back here. Hell or high water, we will be in the mess hall before you know it eating Frypan’s Tuesday Surprise.”

 

It brought a smile to Thomas’s face, and he dragged the other into a hug. “You better keep that promise.” Newt hugged back, choosing to consciously ignore the flutter in his stomach, and lower, when the other became protective.

 

“Come ooooonnnn…Drama queens.” Minho groaned, dragging Newt away, and gesturing for one of the other runners to throw him a chest protector for the blonde.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you don’t give me a hug every time I risk my limbs for the world, Shank!”

 

Within a few moments, the two of them were up on the top of a military truck filled to the brim with Runners and the Cure. With a final glance back, Newt’s gaze caught Thomas’, and he smiled reassuringly.

 

_He would be back._

 

Thomas of course, looked like an abandoned puppy, left behind at the launch as the large vehicle drove away, a cloud of dust trailing behind. He knew Minho would protect Newt with his life, but he still worried about the other boy’s health, and whether or not this trip was the right decision. Perhaps he should have been more forceful in his disagreement? He could have tackled Minho and threw him into the truck before he said anything to Newt….Yes…he would have to do that next time, he thought to himself.

 

“He’ll be fine, Thomas.” Teresa grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him in the direction of the hospital. “I get where Minho was coming from. Newt needs to feel like he’s in control again- feel strong again.”

 

It was perfectly reasonable, and both she and Minho only had Newt’s welfare in mind, but Thomas still hated it.

 

“I know…I really do. But, you didn’t see him last night. He was just so frail.” He paused, looking Teresa in the eye as they walked beside each other. “I can’t loose him again, Teresa…I can’t keep watching my friends die.”

 

The words were so familiar, a haunting reminder of the last time he uttered them to her, just before he sent himself into the Glade. It figured, they had literally fought a dystopian overlord, freed the immune prisoners, found a cure, saved the world, and still, he was helpless to save his friends.

 

“Thomas.” She grabbed his arm, with a forceful grip. “He is not going to die. We will figure this out.”

 

She was right. At some point in their travels, like Newt had forgotten how strong he was, Thomas had forgotten his own power. Somehow, he had forgotten that his greatest sin was a product of his great strength.

 

_The Maze._

 

Thomas was the one, who as a teenager, found a way to map the unique habits of a disease that had taken the world by storm. It was he who had designed a solution, and led a team of scientists with more experience and degrees then he had years of life.

_Thomas built the maze._

_Thomas was the genius._

_Thomas could save Newt._

 

The cogs in his head began to turn, and moved away from pain and panic at the potential loss of his friend, and instead began to strategize. This was his strength, and his wheelhouse. He could do this.

 

A smile graced his face and his heart filled with purpose. Thomas missed his conversations with Teresa. She was his best friend at one time, before the maze, and now he is reminded why. She was the voice of reason among all the craziness of their lives, and he could not be more thankful.

 

“Thank you, Teresa. You’re right, we will save Newt.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

Pulling his chest protector tighter over his military surplus jacket, and checking his thigh holster for the hundredth time, Newt squinted his eyes into the brightness of the scorch and towards the city in the distance.

 

High rising skyscrapers broke the horizon line, ahead of them. The bright sun reflected off the many glass and steel surfaces of the buildings, creating a beautiful view.

 

“How are you feeling?” Minho asked, seriously, his body steadily rocking with the movement of the truck.

 

Newt grinned, knowing he was not going to be able to escape the third degree from his friend. Minho had known him longer then anyone else – that he could remember- and they had always been able to confide in one another. They both shouldered the burden of knowing the truth of the maze, and hiding it from the younger Gladers, and they both made it their roles to keep the peace among their little world, and be the voice of calm reason to Gally’s forceful paranoia.

 

“Better.” He rubbed his hands together, trying to keep them warm and spread out in the searing sun. “Much better actually. My chest,” He gestured with a hand to his heart. “still feels like it’s a block of ice, and it hurts to breathe most of the time, but I am better.”

 

“Yeah, much better.” Minho joked after hearing the symptoms.

 

“It was much worse before, trust me.” He looked around making sure the other Runners weren’t eavesdropping. “Before Tommy found me on the beach, it was really bad. It wasn’t just my heart, but my entire body was so cold I could freeze things with a touch. It hurt something terrible… But when I was on the beach, I was numb. At first I thought it was the drugs that Teresa gave me, but now I’m not so sure.”

 

Minho’s lips were pulled into a frown, and there was genuine concern in his eyes. “What do you mean?”

 

Newt licked his lips, struggling not to meet Minho’s eyes. “I asked Teresa the side effects of the drugs. Numbness was not one of them...When you think about hypothermia and freezing…I think it was the last stage.”

 

“Newt. The last stage of what?”

 

Newt finally met his eyes, fixing him with a look from under his eyelashes and a heavy brow, remaining silent. Minho sat back with a heavy breath, and a sinking feeling.

 

They kept mum for the remainder of the ride, but Minho did keep a supportive hand on Newt’s knee. The touch provided some relief to the cold setting into Newt’s legs, but it was nowhere near as strong as the reprieve he felt when Thomas held him. It was like comparing aspirin to morphine.

 

A thought did strike him, however. So far, only Thomas and Minho had been able to quell the tide of the Freeze. It wasn’t as if he was going around high fiving people to find out who had the most effect, but he knew Teresa’s touch had done nothing, and neither had some of the other people he had brushed by in the mess hall. Hell, when Thomas touched him it was like lightening. Surely he would notice if someone else had made him feel that way.

 

Was it because he was closer to them on a friendship level? It supported his whole “power of love” theory. But perhaps there was a more scientific reason. He would have to consider it later, though, because the truck then came to a stop.

 

“Alright, Shanks!” Minho called, standing and throwing his pack over his shoulders. “Use the buddy system, only give the goods over to the staff with IDs- remember, there’s still a lot of ugly in the world- and be back here in three hours! Clear?”

 

A litany of “Clear!” rippled through the truck, before the loud clamor of young men and women spilled from the truck like excitable campers. With the orderliness of bees, the group organized into picking, tossing and running off with the Cure. Before long, Minho and he were alone.

 

“You, stay with me.” Minho commanded, and Newt raised an eyebrow in response.

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Minho gave a smile, before taking a box from the truck and passing it to Newt.

 

“The normal freezers are going to get pretty packed, so we will need to stash these in the morgue. Hope you don’t mind, we’ve got the gross job.”

 

“Would you prefer to let your little younglings do it?” Newt joked, taking the delicate box and carrying it towards the hospital, Minho in tow.

 

The remaining skyscrapers loomed above them, and the land surrounding them, a wasteland. Each sound of structures groaning, and broken steel falling from decrepit buildings made them jump as they made their way from the truck to the safe space of the hospital. Every past experience in the scorch, running from Cranks and fearing thugs came jolting back to him, and he remained on his guard. The Cure may be slowly making itself around the world, but people were still people, and one could not be too careful.

 

Once inside, the hospital was packed. Security officers made space for Minho, Newt and the other Runners to scurry through the maze-like halls of the hospital without being mobbed by people seeking treatment. Some of the patients just looked scared, dirty, and anxious, while others were fully on their way to becoming Cranks. Their blue veins rippled across their faces and hands, and they barked at those around them. Already, hospital staff had practically ripped the boxes out of the Runner’s hands, prepared syringes, and had started stabbing the Cranks with well-placed needles.

 

It was chaos.

 

Making their way out of the mob and down more then a few flights of stairs, the pair followed the lighted signs reading, “MORGUE”.

 

This area of the hospital was quiet, and seemed to be abandoned. The hospital wasn’t exactly fully functioning, so its not like they should have expected to see doctor’s running around in scrubs with clipboards in their hands.

 

“Here.” Minho stated, turning towards a heavy steel door.

 

Inside, it was cold and dark. The chill in the air was so brisk, even Newt had felt the difference, if his breath being visible wasn’t clue enough.

On the far side of the room, multiple square steel doors lined the wall. Minho took no time in striding over, and flinging one of the doors open and sliding out the long drawer.

 

Newt knew this is where they stored bodies.

 

“Put yours here.”

 

Newt complied, placing his box of medicine next to Minho’s. Beside theirs, empty cardboard boxes sat from the last supply run. Minho grabbed a hold of those he could, folded them with a few quick flicks of his wrist, into flat cardboard strips, and then moved to slide the drawer back.

 

With no warning, Minho’s head was slammed into the steel drawer with a loud clang.

 

Newt jumped back, facing their attacker head on. The Crank screeched at him, showing its teeth, it’s black bile covered hand clenched in an iron grip around the crown of Minho’s head, which was still pressed uncomfortably against steel.

 

“What the-“

 

He had no idea how the thing had managed to get so far through the hospital without the staff capturing it, or how it had gotten so close to the two of them, in the silent basement, without them hearing. His heart and mind raced, and he knew he had to act fast.

 

Within seconds, the Crank moved rabidly, arms flailing as it lunged towards Newt, mouth still open and unhinged. Newt reached backwards and dragged one of the chrome tables holding a myriad of dissection instruments between him and his attacker. Like a baby gate for a wolf it did nothing to hold back the creature as it clawed and ripped its way over and on top of the table and towards him. A sharp pain lanced across his cheek, as the sharp fingernails caught him within their reach and tore across soft skin.

 

With not much space to run, and refusing to leave his friend, he moved about the room on the defense, throwing anything and everything into its path, while keeping one steady hand on the knife in his thigh holster. He did not want to kill it, knowing all to well that underneath the crazed, blood thirsty rage it was a human- Just like he had once been. Keeping it at bay definitely was not the most strategic, but it he hoped it would hold out if only for a few more moments.

 

As the infected creature scrambled across another piece of hospital equipment thrown its way, Newt found his chance. When both black veined and twisted hands were busy being used to hurl its large body towards its prey, Newt lunged forward, throwing the hilt of his heavy knife into the things face with such force, its neck snapped back. As he moved past it, and into the middle of the room, he took the opportunity, while it was stunned and turned away to slash a quick line across its exposed ankle, cutting the soft tendon.

 

It howled in agony and spun around like a top, ready lunge again, only to falter as it’s leg would no longer support the weight of its own body. Of course, it still managed to crawl towards him, as if the only thing that mattered was to rip the meat from Newt’s bones.

 

Finally, picking up one of the strewn tables, Newt raised it above his head and threw it down onto the Crank, dropping it like a mosquito.

 

Then, there was silence.

 

Newt breathed heavily, attempting to come back to himself, his pants visible puffs of air in the cold of the morgue. His foot moved to step forward, wanting nothing more than to check the pulse of the creature that had tried so hard to kill him and his friend, but the better part of his mind reminded him that Minho came first. Spinning on the balls of his feet, he ran towards Minho’s body, which stirred with his touch.

 

“Minho! Are you okay?” Newt knelt beside his friend, checking his head injury, and finding blood, but not serious damage. “You may have a concussion.”

 

“No shit.” Minho groaned, bringing his own hand up to the throbbing area of his skull.

 

Newt gave him a moment before pulling him up, not wanting him to get nauseous from the movement. They both knew from years in the Glade that head injuries were tricky. He couldn’t count the times that the builders had fallen off the rickety scaffolding of their home, only to vomit violently when shaken or experiencing too quick of a movement.

 

After a moment, Minho looked past Newt’s head of tussled hair and towards the squashed zombie behind him. The creature moaned from underneath the table, still alive, and Newt let out a relived sigh.

 

The poor Crank had mustered up the smallest amount of sanity to drag itself to the hospital for aid, and to be cured, only to be lose itself in the last moment, attacking and lashing out at the two Runners in the basement.

 

“Come on.” Newt pulled Minho to stand. They needed to finish the job, get the Crank the help it needed, and then head back out before they missed the afternoon ferry.

The world wouldn’t stop turning for two Runners.

 

 

* * *

 

In the lab, Teresa watched on as Thomas practically stabbed the needle into his arm, half expecting to see it jut out of the other side. The vein on the side of his head was showing, as he watched the little plastic tube rapidly fill with red.

 

“My team is working on synthesizing more of the Cure, which means you and I can focus everything we’ve got on Newt.”

 

He gave a subtle nod, his lips still pressed together in a thin line, glaring at the offensive needle. He was going to do everything in his power to help save Newt, even if it meant draining himself. It was ironic that this is exactly what WCKD had wanted him for, to which he fought tooth and nail to escape. Now, here he was, willing to hand over everything he had, his blood, his brain, and his life, to save just one victim.

 

_Newt._

 

After collecting whatever his body would allow as a sacrifice, the pair hovered over a microscope and computer screen as Teresa caught Thomas up on her progress thus far.

 

“So, how many other people have you looked at? Does the disease look the same in all cases?”

 

“Only three. A woman, Newt, and that older gentleman from the other day.” She took on a somber expression. “Honestly, Newt is the only one that has survived this long. Everyone else Minho sees in the hospitals in the scorch… don’t normally live much longer then a few weeks.

 

Thomas’ eyes widened, and he looked at her, stricken.

 

“But, I think I found out why.” She stated quickly, trying to calm him. Shifting some items around on the microscope, Theresa then pointed to a pattern of red globules on the computer screen. “See, this is the Freeze…” She zoomed in on a red snowflake. “And this… is one of the enzymes in your blood.” A pink glob.

 

“What am I looking at?” He could practically feel her roll her eyes. He wanted to remind her that she was the biology expert of the two of them.

 

“The freeze is no where near the enzyme… I mean, it’s not killing it or anything, but it is repelling it…like mosquito repellant.”

 

Thomas stared at the little snowflakes killing his friend, the beautiful structure floating among Newt’s blood. He squinted, focusing in on its edges and shape, willing it to burst into flame. His face moved closer, reaching a fingertip out to adjust the glass slide, when suddenly, the snowflake gave a jiggle.

 

“It moved!” He shouted, throwing his body back.

 

“What!?” Teresa practically shoved past him, giving the glass a bit of a shake and then zooming in on the snowflake. “Nothing’s moving now.”

 

He glanced back and forth between Teresa and the accursed computer screen. His mind buzzed the same way it had when Eva Paige was leaning over his shoulder and encouraging him with her poison words to think harder, and to continue his work on the maze. The pieces clicked into place like the maze coming together for the first time in his mind.

 

“What if it’s not a disease?” He whispered. Teresa craned her head to look towards him, questioning. “What if its not a disease, but a parasite. That would explain why its repelled, and why it can move. Its not a virus or a bacteria, it’s a parasite!”

He moved closer to her.

 

“Thomas, I already treated Newt’s blood with anti-parasitics, and every other drug known to man. It can’t be a parasite.”

 

That… is because you haven’t seen this one before. Maybe he and the others picked it up after the Flare weakened their immune system…and –“

 

“The Cure just woke it up?” She stated disbelievingly. “What did Newt and those others have in common that they would have picked up the same bug?”

 

A revelation came within the silence, and they both looked up, stating at the same time.

 

“The scorch.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

With one hand Minho held the bandage to his head, while the other held on to the side of the rumbling truck. They had made it back to the truck, with time to spare, and all Runners accounted for. Overall, the mission was a success.

 

“Thomas is going to kill me.” He grumbled, gesturing to the angry abrasion spoiling Newt’s face. One of the hospital nurses had already cleaned the wound, and tended to Minho’s head injury when they handed the Crank over to orderlies.

 

Newt blushed at the statement and the side of his mouth upturned.

“Oh, you are one to talk.” Newt reached out and pressed a cool hand to the top of Minho’s head, just beside the injury. “It’s you, who I am bringing back maimed.”

 

Minho’s eyes closed and leaned into his touch. “Oh, that feels good.”

 

Newt’s eyebrow lifted, but he kept his hand pressed to the hot wound. “If you say so.” He couldn’t imagine how poking at any fresh injury would feel ‘good’, as Minho put it.

 

“Your hands are nice and cold.” He explained.

 

“Well, I am glad my mortal illness is causing you some comfort, Shank.” Newt quipped. Minho smiled, cracking an eye, and reaching out to shove at the blonde’s shoulder playfully, dropping the other’s hand from his head.

 

“And, how are you feeling?”

 

Newt took a heavy breath at the loaded question. He knew the temporary relief he had felt on their journey to the hospital has subsided some time ago. He recalled how ecstatic he was to leave the chill of the morgue and to step into the heat of the scorch, only to find the experience lacking. Though the Runners sitting around him in the truck had a thick coating of sweat on their skin, and a light tinge of tan from the sun’s rays, Newt felt only cold.

His fingers were chilled again and purple skin was revealed from underneath his nails. He knew by this time his lips were blue as well, for the ice in his heart had spread and caused aches in his joints and face.

 

“I think it is best we are heading back now.” He responded, lamely. The spell that Thomas’s touch had graced him with had now worn off, and he was on death’s door once more. He did not regret the adventure Minho had taken him on, for it was important for him to do the world some good, spreading the Cure to others, before he passed on.

 

“Hang in there, man. You know the two geniuses will figure this out.” His friend tried supportively.

 

They made it back to the ferry, and the Runners unloaded themselves the same way they had before, by jumping and hooting out of the truck like a mudslide of young people. Of course, the man that ran the taco stand, was more then happy to take their business, as most of the group rushed his food cart.

 

At the launch, Thomas and Teresa waited for them, and immediately, upon seeing Minho’s bandaged covered head and Newt’s face, started forward.

 

“What the hell happened?!” Thomas shouted, gesturing at the pair’s heads.

 

“Tommy, it’s okay. There was a Crank loose in the hospital-“ Newt tried to explain.

 

“And Newt kicked its ass.” Minho supplied, gripping his friend’s heavily clothed shoulder.

 

Thomas didn’t look thrilled at any of their story so far, and Teresa was doing her best to calm him with a supportive hand outstretched towards him. Newt had seen Thomas righteously angry a few times in their quests from the Maze to Safe Haven, but he wasn’t normally irrational. That was usually Gally’s tendency.

 

“Tommy. I promise, we’re okay. See? Just a scratch.” He pointed a finger at his own scratch, allowing the other to inspect it to his liking. And Thomas did.

 

Reaching out with gentle fingers, he brushed just underneath the scrape, inspecting it with a worried expression. The blonde couldn’t help but lean into the warm touch, which spread throughout his body like a drug.

 

“No…your not okay, Newt.” Thomas whispered brokenly, drawing attention to the tiny red ice crystals hidden just inside the wound. Newt, in shock, raised a hand and pressed it against the injury site. Indeed, he felt the Freeze had taken hold of his cheek, which at some point had become numb from the infection.

 

Swallowing, and feeling his heart racing, he was once again reminded that his days of living were numbered. Feeling as if the world was once again crumbling around him, he felt two strong arms wrap around his freezing body, and hold him close.

 

_God, he must be making a scene._

_So much for having a good day._

 

Soon, one pair of arms became three as Teresa and Minho joined in on the group hug.

 

“I promise, Newt. We’ll figure this out.” Thomas squeezed harder as he felt Newt’s cold head bury into his neck. Teresa and he had already had a theory on solving this for good, but now, in the open, was not the place to reveal it. He hoped Newt could hold out until they got home.

 

They were going to save Newt.

 

_He_ was going to save Newt.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your continued support!  
> Please enjoy the next chapter as we finally get some more time alone with Thomas and Newt.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the Maze Runner Series, nor the characters within.  
> Thank you.

“This is ridiculous, Thomas.” Newt snapped, keeping his arms firmly wrapped around his bare chest. The two of them were shirtless in the smallest, warmest space in Safe Haven. The old-fashioned clay bread oven took up most of the space, in the room, and the red hot coals illuminated their bodies. Most importantly, the room was warm, if not sweltering, and Newt could almost bear to be without his clothing for the time. Almost.

 

“It makes perfect sense! The Freeze was repelled by my blood. I am literally a repellant!” Thomas tried to explain, excitedly, shifting around the blanket and pillows on the small mattress in front of the oven.

 

“And the clothes?”

 

“Teresa and I have a theory that if you keep my enzymes around you long enough, the Freeze just goes away-“

 

“Goes where?”

 

“I don’t know, _away._ ”

 

“You don’t know?”

 

Thomas sputtered, not able to answer exactly where the parasite would go in this case, only that it had actually leapt off the glass slide in the lab, desperate to get away from his enzymes. “We’ll figure it out!”

 

Newt practically glowered at him, which Thomas convinced himself was a side effect of being cold. He swallowed and lowered his voice, approaching the topic once more, the same way he would approach a rabid grizzly bear.

 

“We have to do something, Newt.” He tried. “Even if this is temporary, like last time, it’ll hold the illness back until we can figure out how to make it permanent. It’s slow going, but I promise, once we have enough for blood transfusion, we can try that too.”

 

Newt looked up, sniffing and wiping his cold nose. The sudden heat of the room was causing him to flush. He knew what a transfusion entailed, and that his blood would need to be replaced entirely with Thomas’. Thomas would need to drain himself dry in order to save him, which explained why it was taking so long to slowly compile the blood safely. He couldn’t imagine the burden Thomas took upon himself to save those around him, and even continue to give blood to save people he had never met. It was unimaginably selfless, and he found himself not being worthy of such a person.

 

Newt took a healthy and long breath, calming himself. “You didn’t have to do this Thomas.”

 

“Of course, I- …Newt, I want to do this.”

 

Newt flushed again, this time, not from the heat. He changed the subject.

 

“So, how long do we have to be in here, doc?”

 

“Until you feel better…I figure we would spend the night.” He smiled, sitting himself on the center of the mattress, and spreading his legs. “Now, come here.”

 

Newt gave a fake smile and crouched down and into a seated position between Thomas’ legs. He could completely see how this would be awkward with anyone else. Minho would have giggled the entire time, and pretended to flirt before a big “bro-hug”. Thomas on the other hand, treated this like it was any other day, and nothing out of the ordinary was going on. While Newt was ecstatic to be in Thomas’s care, a seed of dread began to plant itself.

 

Did Thomas not feel nervous? Perhaps this was nothing more than an obligatory set of steps to help his friend, and nothing more. To him, this was just any other day, saving one of his hapless friends again. Was that what Newt had become? An obligation? A burden?

 

He knew Thomas had a hero-habit, making his sole obligation in life to help all those in need. Perhaps that was all this was. Panic set into his hollow fridge-like chest.

 

_I kissed him._

_Under the cover of darkness on the beach, high on drugs and brain frozen, I kissed Thomas._

My God, did the other even want it? Did he force his frozen lips on his innocent friend in a selfish goodbye?

 

He looked down at his rigid hands, white and bloodless. He knew Thomas loved him as a friend, as Newt loved Minho, Gally, Teresa and the others. But, he could never love Newt as he loved him. With his porcelain body, hollow soul and lifeless eyes, he thought himself nothing more than a doll. A fragile thing meant to be put on a shelf, protected and untouchable.

No, his Tommy deserved someone less breakable, and someone that could protect himself while also protecting Thomas. _Someone who could be his equal._

 

A fear even deeper set in as Newt wondered if once the Freeze had left his body, he would ever really love himself, or would these awful thoughts stay with him for the remainder of his life. It was a terrible feeling that had held onto him since their time in the Glade. Mentoring young Greenies brought him purpose, and kept him grounded. Now, since Denver, he felt unmoored.

 

Two arms wrapped around his chest and squeezed him tight once. At the contact of back against chest, he felt Thomas jump.

 

“Oh sorry!” the brunette squeaked. “Your so cold.” Thomas wiggled adjusting to fit Newt’s icy back against his chest, his nipples immediately hardening and goosebumps breaking out across is skin.

 

Newt immediately sighed, like the first time Thomas had touched his skin since he had the Freeze, his entire body responded in contentment. It was a return to homeostasis, like being normal again. His mouth was still open, and his muscles spasmed occasionally, coping through the strange change. Thomas felt his arms get pulled in closer to Newt’s chest by cold hands, as the other craved the touch in return.

 

“Its okay.” He whispered into the ear of the boy in his arms. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

 

They lay like that for some time, just holding one another, waiting for the tremors to subside, and the color to return to Newt’s skin. Outside of the cabin, Minho lay in the sand on a towel. Words written in the sand where his feet touched the edge of the towel, read:

 

_QUARENTINE_

 

* * *

 

_12 hours until morning._

 

“No….I don’t think he will end up as an astronaut…” Newt explained as if to a child, “The world finally gets back on its feet and you think the first thing it will do is invest in a space program?”

 

“Okay, then a home decorator.” Thomas snarked.

 

“How did you even-? Those aren’t event remotely related.”

 

“Fine…where do you think he will be?”

 

Newt paused and thought a moment. “Park Ranger.”

 

“How the hell did you settle on that as Minho’s career?”

 

“What? He gets to run around miles and miles of park, in the middle of the woods, he can save lost or vulnerable hikers, and occasionally avoid geysers and rattlesnakes. Its perfect.” He explained dryly.

 

Thomas paused a moment to let the words sink in. “Fair.”

 

* * *

 

_10 hours until morning._

 

“It says here you are an ‘autumn’…and your signature handbag is a tote.” Newt read from the glossy pages of the magazine Teresa had brought them from the hospital waiting room.

 

“Absolutely not!” Thomas scoffed, appalled at the idea. “What about this little purse shaped like a lemon.”

 

“No.”

 

“What!? It has little brass seeds and everything!”

 

“Just accept it man.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

_8.5 hours until morning._

 

“…”

 

“…”

 

“Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall-“

 

“Thomas, I swear to God!”

 

* * *

 

_6 hours until morning._

 

Soft breathing and the occasional popping from the hot coals in the oven filled the space while the two males lay in silence.

 

“Newt…” Thomas, who despite his commitment to saving Newt had been restless throughout their little sleepover, and whispered into the other’s ear.

 

“Yes, Tommy?” The exhaustion in his own voice surprised Newt, when he responded.

 

“Can we talk about…” The sound of his thick swallow was audible to probably even Minho. “What you said on the beach?... What you said in Denver?”

 

The now warm blood that had finally calmed within the smaller boy, froze again, and this time it was not because of the parasite. It seemed this night could not be worse. He could already imagine Thomas’s arms becoming less tight around him after they finally address the unrequited elephant in the room.

 

Newt nodded, his blonde curls tickling Thomas’s chin.

 

“When you…um.” A pause. “Did you mean what you said?”

 

Newt breathed in deeply, preparing himself, and wishing for more time.

“Yes, Tommy.” He repeated.

 

“Newt…How long?”

 

“Since you came out of the box.” He admitted, lowly. “Probably even longer, if I remembered anything before that time.”

 

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

 

Newt raised a brow and turned his head so their eyes met. “When? As your leader in the maze; during the terrifying escape from Ratman; the march through the scorch; or our rebel siege on the Last City?” Thomas’s mouth became a thin line, feeling stupid, which in turn caused Newt to immediately felt guilty. “I’m sorry. That was cruel.”

 

“I just would have liked to know. You should always feel like you can tell me things.”

 

“Would it have changed anything?” Newt asked, genuinely. “Or, would it have just ruined things. We depended on each other, Tommy. All of us. We couldn’t have my stupid feelings spoiling it, or you feeling awkward around me.”

 

There was another more pregnant pause as Newt stewed helplessly and Thomas considered the information, not oblivious to his friends suffering. He knew the other Glader was being short in his responses, probably out of nervousness.

 

“I really wish you would have told me.” The brunette drove the point again, squeezing his friend tighter.

 

“Tommy, it wouldn’t have changed anything-“

 

“Yes, it would have.” Thomas said forcefully, interrupting the other. “Then we could have been doing this sooner.” For Newt, there was a moment of surprise as warm lips covered his, and the long legs around him rose up and boxed him into the soft embrace. Thomas’ kiss was passionate and slow, and Newt struggled to keep his brain functioning as it was happening.

 

Reaching his hands up, Newt moved to hold Thomas’ face, only to pull back when he remembered the way ice had once crept from his fingertips. Thomas did not let him, however, unwrapping one arm from around the other’s chest and using it to press the cold hand to his cheek. It was a meaningful gesture, and Newt reveled in it, pushing back at the chest behind him, and twisting so they were face-to-face and chest-to-chest.

 

Thomas kissed him like he approached everything else, with incomparable passion. His hands held almost too tightly, his thighs holding the other closer as if it was life or death, and as if he was afraid to let go. Newt felt similarly. They both needed this, and needed each other. Both were desperate to hold onto this love.

 

Their bodies moved together, Newt’s back dipped and his hips pushed forward, loving the way Thomas’s breathing turned to gasps whenever they parted.

 

A few times, the thought that this was the first time either of them were experiencing such intimacy, crossed both their minds. It didn’t seem to matter, though. The hands were moving where they needed to move, and so far everything felt right. It felt perfect.

 

“Tommy…” Newt whispered between kissed. “I did… I meant everything.” He leaned back, looking into wide, glazed, brown eyes. This must have been the right thing to say, as Thomas grew a wicked grin and flipped them so he was on top, keeping his hand cradled behind Newt’s head until it was safe on the pillow.

 

“I love you too, Newt.”

 

They continued to move together in the soft red light of the bread oven. Newt, who never thought he would experience this kind of happiness before, and who only hours ago had felt only cold, could now feel nothing but heat.

 

 

* * *

 

The bright morning light bled through the small cabin windows and further warmed the skin of the two shirtless bodies in the nest of blankets. Tropical birds chirped outside, and the gentle sound of the waves upon the shore hummed from afar.

 

Thomas’s soft snoring and contentment, however, would not last long as the jostling of the body covering his interrupted it.

 

He awoke to Newt’s violent coughs, as the pale boy crawled out of the makeshift bed on his hands, dragging his body behind him.

 

“Newt?” Thomas cried out, rushing to his aid, immediately moving to his side and reaching his hand to press against the other’s back. It was only then that he saw the blue lines branching like tree roots up the pale skin of his spine, and from what seemed like a large sore, a thick white froth bubbled forth. “Oh, God-“ His heart stopped as he was reminded of a time not long ago when black filled veins striped Newt’s skin as he succumbed to the Flare.

 

As if on cue, Newt’s hacking became worse, as he choked out a mix of white froth and messy deep blue bile. As it tumbled onto the floor, it scattered, and that is when Thomas noticed that it wasn’t foam at all. It was… snow?

 

_The Freeze._

 

Those tiny little parasites and their bi-products were oozing out of the boy in front of him. Newt let out a wail as his body spasmed and rocked with each cough. Without warning, the door exploded open and Minho rushed in.

 

“What happened?” He moved to his help his suffering friend. “Jesus.” He gasped as he saw the mess.

 

Thomas continued to panic, “I don’t know! Newt?” He felt helpless, watching his love in pain. The cabin was supposed to help!

 

Finally, after one more rib cracking cough, hurling more bile from his throat, Newt fell to his side.

 

Time seemed to slow even as Thomas and Minho raced to pick up their friend, careful in their touches as they carried him from the cabin. Minho yelled for the island doctor, and people turned to see them as they dashed outside in to the heat of the sun and through the shifting sand.

 

Later, Thomas would thank Minho for being keeping a calm head while he panicked, feeling like the world was sinking in and all their work to save Newt was for naught- This was it. This was the end.

As the doctor, followed closely by Teresa met them on the beach, Thomas paid no attention, focusing only on the sweat covered slack face of his golden haired love, while he held him under the arms the same way one would carry a corpse.

 

_Newt._


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello,  
> Thank you so much for your patience and for your comments and kudos. I really do appreciate each one.   
> I am glad to announce there is only one remaining chapter after this one.   
> Enjoy!

Thomas wrung his pale hands nervously, not knowing what else to do with them as he waited by Newt’s bedside in the medical cabin. The doctor had since left the blonde’s area and moved onto other sick patients as soon as the seizing had stopped and he was stabilized. Teresa, however, fluttered around him like a bee, collecting samples, and taking notes.

The movement around them, the noises outside, and even the scratching of Teresa’s pen on her notepad were muted as Thomas focused on the rise and fall of Newt’s chest.

They had since cleaned the blue bile and white crystals from his lips and mouth, and the few sores that had spread across his body. Now, it seemed like he was peacefully sleeping. Unfortunately, Thomas was only too used to being seated in this position while watching that angelic face rest. How many times had he been at watch while his friend, this friend in particular, had come so close to death that he became comatose?

 

“It’s going to be okay, Thomas.” Teresa stated matter-of-factly, not looking up from her work.

 

Thomas wanted to roll his eyes. No it wasn’t. Nothing was okay right now.

“Yeah, because everything has been going so well for us so far.” He knew she was only trying to help, but the large part of him just wanted to make the world hurt as much as he was hurting.

 

“Yeah…being the lucky twenty five percent of the world that survived the apocalypse, and having saved Newt…twice….Sure makes me feel like we are the unlucky ones.” Teresa sassed back.

 

Thomas ripped his hands apart and crossed his arms, not knowing where to put them, but knowing he was done with her attitude. “What the hell do you want, Teresa?”

 

“I want you to stop stewing.” She challenged. “You saved Newt. On top of that it seems like you finally stopped being an idiot and told him how you feel.”

 

“What-“ He sputtered, the thousands of insults came to a crushing halt in his throat. “How’d you…Did you?”

 

“Minho told me.”

 

“OH MY GOD!” His hands met his hair and then rubbed down his face, hiding it in shame. “Did everyone hear? That was a private moment!”

 

When she saw him getting hysterical, Teresa cracked a half smile and tried to calm him. “Relax, no one heard anything. Minho apparently went in to go check on you guys at some point, and he found out…and that’s how I know.”

 

“Oh God.”

 

“So....Did you guys do it?”

 

The world must have been going mad, because at this point, the question did not even surprise him. Thomas just let himself relax in his chair, and accept the probing, keeping his hands in the air, but his elbows leaning on his knees.

 

“Seriously?”

 

“It’s for science, Thomas.” She stated.

 

There was a pause before he swallowed hard, and went on to confess. “We…we didn’t do much. But we had…” He struggled to find the words. “a moment.”

 

She tapped her pen to her lips considering his words before scribbling something down on her notepad.

 

“Oh come on, did you just write that down?” He asked incredulously.

 

“Yep.” She continued to write as she spoke. “So, should I assume the moment included touching? Do you remember if your heart rate was raised?”

 

He stopped answering her and fixed her with a stare. When she looked up, expectantly, his stared turned into a glare.

 

“What? This is important.”

 

“Important for what, the gossip column you are writing about my romantic endeavors?”

 

Teresa’s eyes almost rolled out of her head. “Important for Newt.” When she said this, Thomas sat up at attention. “While you were in quarantine, I kept studying the Freeze samples we have from Newt’s blood. I had a theory on why you were repelling the parasites. Its not _you_ , so much as it was your immunity. It’s repelled by your enzymes and the enzymes of other immune people. When you touched him, the parasites inside him reacted and tried to flee. If you were...”she cleared her throat. “Intimate with Newt, and your heart rate was up, your enzymes were probably much stronger, pushing the parasite out completely.”

 

Thomas wanted to scratch his head. He understood what she was saying, but they didn’t necessarily sink in. Newt picked up the parasite from the Scorch, he believed, and at some point the Freeze was forced to share a host with the Flare. When the Flare was destroyed by the Cure, it gained strength by feeding off a weakened host. Said host being the sweet and strong boy in the bed in front of him.

 

“Is he better?” Thomas asked, eyes glassy and not breaking contact with Newt’s form.

 

Teresa watched on, focusing on the stress-born crease in Thomas’s forehead.

“I think he’ll be fine.” She put her hand on his shoulder supportively, and took her leave from the room, closing the door behind her.

 

At the almost silent click of the door, twin eyelashes fluttered open. Tired eyes roamed around the room before settling on the body by his side.

 

 

Coming back into consciousness was always interesting at the end of the world. Often times in the past three years, Newt would find himself waking up to the sight of one end of rope tied tightly around a wooden pole, and on the other end knotted around a canvas hammock. As the fog cleared and he remembered he was in the sleeping quarters of the Glade, the disillusionment set in and he realized that his pleasant visions were only dreams. He was still in Hell.

 

This time, waking up was similar, in that instead of lying comfortably in his cot, he was stretched out in what appeared to be the medical cabin. The sheets were stark white, and the room had a smell of antiseptic. His entire head moved to look to his side, where out of the corner of his eye he could see movement.

 

“Thomas?” He whispered, he moved his hand to reach out, only to see his fingers barely twitch and stubbornly stay put.

 

“Newt!” Thomas moved in closer, shifting his hand onto Newt’s boney shoulder.

 

While the blonde’s heart skipped excitedly, overjoyed to see his friend, a larger more pragmatic part of him hesitated.

 

“What…Was it…” _Was it real?_ He wanted to ask. He couldn’t imagine that amazing night in the heated bakery to be nothing more than another dream. Swallowing, he struggled to ask the question, ‘Did we really have that moment?’, but all that came out was: “What happened?”

 

Thomas moved his finger to smooth the crease on Newt’s forehead. “Its okay. You had an attack, but your better now. Teresa said the parasite is completely gone.”

 

Moving to catch the hand touching his face, with a frailty he had only experienced during nights of fever, he wrapped his fingers around it and pulled that part of Thomas closer. The sharp memories of tiny insignificant snowflakes tearing him apart, and cutting him from the inside, before exiting his body in the most foul of ways came back to him. He shuttered, feeling the prickles on the back of his spine. It was then, after his involuntary shutter, he realized something was missing.

 

The cold was gone. He found himself to be surprisingly comfortable in the thin T-shirt and flannel pants under an even thinner white sheet.

He pressed his free hand to his chest, giving it a moment, and fully expecting the chill to seep from his core to his fingertips.

 

Nothing happened.

 

He was warm…or normal, to be correct. His body was no longer freezing from the inside out. More importantly, his stomach was free of the twisting, knotting pains that came with being filled with anxiety and dread every minute of every day. He felt…good.

 

“Newt, come on and say something.” Thomas practically pleaded, his eyes glassy, hanging on every breath the other took.

 

“I feel…Good. Lighter.” Newt admitted quietly, looking Thomas in the eyes, and moving that tan hand from his face to his chest. “I’m not cold.” A smile broke across his face for the first time in what felt like so long. It felt like he was breaking the rust of his lips as they stretched from disuse. “Am I cured?”  


The question hung heavy in the air, and Thomas paused before breaking into a goofy smile. “Yeah, Newt. You’re cured.”

 

The final weight had lifted, and he bounded forward, closing the space between them and crushing their faces together clumsily and pressing his lips to Thomas’s. Greedy hands dragged the other into the bed, and Thomas scrambled to keep up, practically falling across the blanketed body.

 

With knees rooted on either side of Newt’s hips, and a hand cradling the soft blonde locks, Thomas pressed himself closer to the small body, desperate for contact. Newt’s legs intertwined with his, tracing his foot up a tan and muscled calf. Like two halves of a whole, they fit together and moved in the in the bright lights of the medical room.

 

Biting his lip, Newt gave pause and held Thomas’ face steady to look at him straight on. “Tommy.” He choked. “Please…tell me last night happened.”

 

Thomas was shocked at the sudden arrival of the subject and the emotion pouring from his friend. Newt’s fear was palpable as he choked on his words, and it physically hurt Thomas to know his love was in pain. “I need to know, Tommy!”

 

“Yes! Yes, Newt, it was real. I love you. I _still_ love you.” Newt sighed visibly at this, and appeared relieved, but Thomas still held concerns. “Are you okay?”

 

“Yes. Yes, I’m sorry to ruin the moment, Tommy-“

 

“You didn’t ruin anything, baby… I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

 

“I’m fine…I’m much better. Even the bad thoughts are gone, I was just…’normal nervous’, I guess.”

 

“Bad thoughts?” Thomas asked.

 

Newt looked up from underneath the larger boy, caught. He had never disclosed his more troubling symptoms of the Freeze to Teresa. If he had told her about his dark thoughts and apathy, he doubted she would let him out of her sight. In fact, if he were in her position, he would try his best to keep his loved one wrapped in a bubble, safe from himself.

 

“I’ll explain later…I’m just so happy it was real, y’know?” He moved his fingers across Thomas’ lips, regretting putting a stop to their moment and hoping to turn the focus on the warm sensation of their bodies pressed together.

 

Thomas was appeased for the moment, reveling in the feeling of Newt’s attention, but made a note to check in later on the ‘thoughts’ his love was having while under the influence of his illness. Taking a deep breath, and relaxing into the touch, he pushed their lips together once more and honed in on moving just right to make the body beneath him respond.

Pushing his tongue through soft lips, licking into Newt’s mouth, and linking their hands together, Thomas felt his body come alive. Below him, Newt rose to meet his touches, gripping his hair and with the other hand, pulling on the loops of his jeans to mold them even closer together.

 

Newt asked himself if these touches and moments had felt even half as good in the dark of the bakery the night before. At the time, he was in pain and his body was failing him, but he remembers Thomas’s touch being his salvation. The warmth of his large hands running across his skin the way they did now created goosebumps in their wake. Now, his body was alive and ready, if not still harboring the effects of the trauma, having fought off the Freeze by force. He could not remember when he last felt this good.

 

“I love you, Tommy.” He whispered, and he felt Thomas’s lips pull into a smile while they were still connected.

 

“I love you too, Newt.”

 

The smaller male shivered and watched, mouth agape as Thomas lowered himself, kissing a trail down Newt’s pale skin as he went, stopping between lithe thighs. There was a moment of hesitation on Thomas’s part, as he appeared to take a breath and freeze just above the other’s clothed hardness.

 

There was a moment of insecurity, where Thomas allowed himself the split second to actually inject thought into his actions, freezing him completely. As his only experience of humankind was under WICKD’s thumb, or in a desperate push for survival, he had never had the time to experiment with sexuality. This was not just new territory for him, but this was terrifying territory as well. The idea of completely botching his first attempt to bring pleasure to Newt, whom had suffered so much loss and pain and whom he loved so strongly, made him want to crawl into a hole.

 

Sure, he was still a teenage boy, after all; Charting a course through his own bodily changes made sense, and he learned as he went. He knew how to make his own pleasure, of course. Now the challenge was providing that same experience for Newt. A resolve grew in his chest as he came to the conclusion that this may be the most embarrassing, sloppy act of his life, but dammit, Newt deserved to be happy. His decision was made. After sitting in stillness for what seemed like forever, he took the plunge and let his animal wants take over.

 

Meanwhile, Newt strained from under the thin cloth and while his body ached to be closer, he interpreted Tommy’s pause as doubt. Although he wished nothing more than to have the feeling of this man on him, in him, and with him always, he could not allow his needs to trump Thomas’s comfort. The second he opened his mouth to say ‘You don’t have to’, he felt wet heat envelope him, silencing him completely.

 

The rest of the night was not so silent.

 

 

 

 

Newt played with the fingers laced within his own, as they lay wrapped in the white sheet of the hospital bed. His head was nestled in Thomas’s neck, and he breathed in Thomas’s comforting scent hidden under a thin layer of sweat.

 

“How are you feeling?” Thomas broke the silence, burying his nose into Newt’s mopped hair. Unlike Thomas, he probably smelled like the after effects of the Freeze-amoebas and sickness, but he couldn’t seem to pry himself out of those muscular arms and make it to the shower.

 

“Better…so much better. How are you?” He tilted his head up to meet brown eyes.

 

Thomas smiled back at him. “I’m perfect.” He craned his neck to press his lips to the other’s mouth, in a feather-light kiss, before pulling away, just to look into his eyes once more.

 

Newt was now freshly educated on that look, and read the intent before it even happened. Thomas moved his upper body to bridge over Newt’s own, ready to dominate him once again. With a playful laugh, Newt held him back.

 

“No more. We need to shower, Tommy.” His hands pressed against the eager chest. If he shamelessly bit his lip and let a thumb wander across the smooth expanse of skin, Thomas didn’t call it out, but the bastard did smirk.

 

“Fine, lets go get cleaned up and get some food.” Thomas groaned. He maneuvered himself away from Newt and off the bed, before reaching his arms up for a long stretch. With a side-eye, he added, “You know I still haven’t tried out the new private showers they installed…It might be a good chance to test them out.”

 

Newt looked up with a ridiculously devious smile. “You mean, to see if they can hold up against our shenanigans?”

 

“More like if they can hold up against, _me_ holding _you_ up against _it_.”

 

Newt felt the heat rise in his face before launching himself at Thomas for a friendly tackle, only to end up challenging him to a race to the showers.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your patience, and I am so sorry for the wait! I broke the last chapter into two, so this one is quite short, but is the beginning of the end of Newt and Thomas' journey within their adventure at Safe Haven.
> 
> I hope you enjoy, and keep a look out for the next chapter, which will have a lot more action, and hopefully a happy ending.

 

Teresa and Frypan’s eyes met without subtly across the dining table in response to their most recent observation. Both of them have been spying on Newt and Thomas since they sat down at the wooden table, freshly showered and smiling like they held a dirty secret.

 

Frypan’s grin widened from ear to ear, before he shook his head and moved his attention back to his food. Teresa, smiled as well, but continued to make curious glances at the pair.

 

Underneath the table, Newt and Thomas’ hands were entwined, while above the table they avoided each other’s eyes and focused soley on their food and not the eyes on them.

 

It was Gally who obliviously wedged himself between the two, slapping his tin plate on the wooden table, with a clang.

“We got a job on the mainland, you shanks coming or what?” He announced, beginning to dig into his food with the kind of savagery one would expect of a warrior before battle. In a way, he was. Gally was always excited before a big event. The Gladers knew that Gally thrived in the chaos that many faltered within. Having been one of the first people on the mainland to begin tearing order into the safe zones that later became towns. It was for this reason that they have not seen him in a while.

 

“Nice to see you too, Gally.” Minho, who had joined the group a moment later, said. “How’s it been on the mainland?”

 

“You’re going to be leading the runners, right?” Gally asked between mouthfuls. “Did you ask any of these fine shanks to join you?” He didn’t seem to notice or care that Thomas and Newt had to crane backwards to try to reconnect from behind his intrusive body.

 

Thomas, who had been casting put-out glances at Newt since their closeness was interrupted by Gally, had looked over to Minho, surprised. “Minho, you didn’t tell us about it. Do you need runners?”

 

“Yeah, and Gally, what are you leading over there?” Newt chimed in.

 

Minho made a face and folded his arms. “It didn’t come up. Honestly, we were too worried Newt wouldn’t even make the night.” He made a sympathetic face towards his blonde friend.

 

“Wait, what?” Gally asked, cheeks full like a chipmunk’s.

 

“Newt almost died from a rare freak illness caused by the Flare. Thomas cured it. Now Teresa is working on how to cure other people.” Frypan added helpfully. Gally accepted the response with a nod and continued eating.

 

Newt rolled his eyes. “Anyway, what do you need help with. Both of you?”

 

“I need runners. Gally’s team just set up a new safe zone about a few hours away from the coast town. The hospital we were at on our last run is the only one with stores of the cure to share and we need to get it moving to the new safe zone.”

 

Gally nodded and continued where Minho left off. “We got a bunch of Phoenixes running the new hospital, and setting up a perimeter. Place is already piling up with survivors looking to start the community around town.”

 

“So, if Minho is getting supplies to the site, what do you need people for, Gally?” Teresa asked.

 

“Recon…We need to make sure the area is secure and check for any possible Crank clusters.” He said bluntly, as if he wasn’t talking about a dangerous mission. Some around the table nodded.

 

“Well, I can help with running, Minho.” Thomas volunteered, pushing his empty plate away from him.

 

Newt followed, with a nod. “I’m in, too. I can use the fresh air.”

 

Teresa looked unsure about Newt’s decision, but he gave her a look, letting her know it would be okay. He knew he had been checked for any side-effects and symptoms and he was cleared.

 

Minho needed their help, and so did a new town making it’s way out of the grip of the Flare.

 

* * *

 

 

Newt and Thomas geared up a few yards away from the other runners. The two of them casting nervous glances at each other, in between securing all the buckles and weaponry over their bodies. Thomas then reached around Newt’s back to secure his chest protector tighter around his lithe body.

 

“There, that fits better now.”

 

Newt looked up at him gratefully. “You ready for this?” he asked, referring to the tremors in Thomas’ hands.

 

Thomas looked back, hesitant, sucking in a breath. “The last time I was getting ready for a mission like this one, I almost lost you.” He brushed his  still trembling fingers against Newt’s pale ones, feeling for the warmth of his skin, which  had replaced the clammy chill that he had not long ago.

 

Newt smiled wryly. Since coming back from the showers, Newt would be lying if he said he didn’t have a seed of concern that things would change for the worse between he and Thomas. The idea that they would share some sort of awkwardness, or be concerned about what others might think, did cross his mind, however, Thomas’s hand in his own the entire ferry ride over to the mainland from Safe Haven shook that thought away. Thomas would always be _his_ Thomas.

 

“I’m not going anywhere, Tommy.” Newt smiled, reaching up to plant a kiss on Thomas’ lips, holding it there for a moment, before pulling away, but keeping a tight hold on his hand. The warmth between their two palms was just as impactful now as it was when he was suffering the effects of The Freeze. Newt felt as if his entire life depended on that warmth, and that touch, and still does. The cold clamminess of his illness has left him with phantom chills and pains over the past few hours, but the feel of the other’s hand in his made the feeling melt away.

 

Thomas gave a small relieved smile back. His stomach was calmed slightly, but terror still ticked in the back of his mind. Almost losing Newt in the bread oven building still haunted him, and only multiplied against the shadows of fear he had carried with him since the first time he almost lost Newt, in the Last City. In fact, fear and uselessness were two of the stronger feelings  he had been experiencing for the past few months.

 

“Alright, let’s load up!” Minho called, from nearby, and they moved when summoned, up and into the truck, as Newt was familiar with from their last journey.

 

* * *

 

 

On the drive over, they stared out into the expanse of the world around them. The wind whipped through their hair, and a few of the other runners in Minho’s troop had practically half their bodies hanging out of the truck, to feel the breeze. The humidity of the coastal land had lead to some sweaty mornings for most of those in the Safe Haven, with the exception of Newt, and the chance at cool fresh air was a much-appreciated occasion.

 

When they reached hospital, the first sight just inside the automatic sliding doors was the hoard of cranks chained up to load-bearing pillars, where at one time, ficus plants and waiting room chairs had once been set up. Swarming around them, like bees on comb, were hospital staff members, restraining them and providing them with necessary medications.

Thomas, geared up like a riot officer and holding his large blaster, felt his head swim with the violence of it all as soon as he walked in. It was hard to look at, and overwhelming to take in. As soon as he stepped into the hospital, he immediately wanted to run out.

 

“Tommy, look.” Newt brought his attention straight at what he was trying to avoid- Two large nurses held a crank upright and still as another hospital staff member drained a small syringe into its neck. Within seconds the crank began to convulse, and its legs gave out, and its body was completely held up by the nurses. Thomas moved to turn away, but not before Newt once again grabbed his arm to pull his attention back to the scene. Just as quickly as it took for the drug to cause the creature to seize, the violent movements stopped. The nurse, no longer holding the syringe lifted one of its eyelids and shined a light into its red-rimmed pupil.

 

Suddenly, the crank’s eyes began to fade from rabid to having clarity as it took in the world around it. It blinked away the fingers holding its eye open, and it looked around the room, its mouth trying to form words. It look a breath, and looked into the eyes of the nurse before it. Within the spanse of the minute tht Thomas and Newt looked on, the “it” became a “he”. Human eyes recognized the world now.

 

Thomas’s jaw dropped as he watched on. The hospital staff moving to unchain the patient from the pillar, and helped him to a gurney waiting nearby.

 

“Cool, huh?” Minho interrupted their staring. “Its like friggin’ magic, that Cure. It’s so fast, they’ve been curing people by the hundreds and just setting them loose a few days later. Hell, most of the people in these safe zones are people that were once cranks. Now they set up homes nearby, and the towns are rebuilt.”

Thomas listened, taking in this information as he watched more commotion around him, as more cranks go through the same transformation back into humanity.

 

“Tommy. Its okay.” Newt laid a hand on the back of his neck, to comfort him. He didnt know when he started crying, but he had clearly worried his friends, judging by the looks on Newt and Minho’s faces.

 

“I’m fine…I’m okay.” He nodded with a smile. “Really.” And he meant it. He didn’t know what he expected to see, but he was so glad he saw it.

 

“I was emotional when I saw it too. Don’t feel bad.” Minho added, helpfully.

 

“Yeah, and Tommy,” Newt leaned in, touching his forehead to the other’s. “This is all because of you. All your hours in that lab with Teresa, was for this.”

 

If he wasn’t emotional already, that definitely broke the damn. He laughed through the remaining tears as he processed everything. He didn’t know what he was feeling, but it sure was great.

 

“Come on, shanks. We have actual work to do here.” Minho announced, moving away from them and whistling to his crew. They followed their leader out of the main lobby, and through the hospital halls to another room. From here, they would be getting their orders for reconnaissance to help maintain the borders of the safe zone, as Gally had described earlier.

The hospital was their first step into this new world of the border towns, but this was their first step closer to danger, as they willingly put themselves into crank territory.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
